Aragorn (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
elessar_telcontar) wrote2013-01-13 01:08 am
elessar_telcontar) wrote2013-01-13 01:08 am
Entry tags:
First Feather [Action/Voice]
[He could hear running water, but it was not the Anduin. The flow was too fast and the bed too shallow: a bubbling stream rather than the mighty river. It was like the laughter of a child, not the roar of the great Anduin. Aragorn slowly opened his eyes. Above were dark trees and a cold, bright sky, but the sun had shifted and the season seemed wrong. His body was aching and sore, though he didn't recall being struck. There had been orcs, he remembered. They were under attack and he'd heard Boromir's horn and run toward the solemn call. Boromir. The memory returned to him and stabbed at his heart like an icy blade. He had arrived at the clearing too late and found the Gondorian dying on the cold ground, his chest pierced by thick-shafted arrows; his bright lifes-blood mingling on the hard earth with the black ooze of his felled enemies. With his last breath the man had pledged himself to Aragorn and called him king.]
My brother.
[Aragorn's voice was hoarse, his throat dry like parchment.]
Forgive me, Boromir: I have failed you.
[He sat up slowly, wincing in pain. He didn't recall being struck, and if the orcs had attacked him while he knelt over his dead friend then why had they left him alive? And why had they... taken his clothes? The cool breeze pricked at the man's bare arms and chest and he realised with a start that his clothes and cloak were gone and he wore only a thin pair of white trousers. His weapons were also nowhere to be seen. Nor was Boromir, though his absence seemed more reasonable when Aragorn realised that he was no longer on Amon Hen. As orcs were not known for stripping their enemies, moving them and then leaving them alive, if injured, in woodland clearing, it was clear that someone else had done this, though to what end Aragorn had no idea.
Moving more stiffly than he would have liked, Aragorn searched the clearing quickly for his weapons, but there was no sign of sword or bow or knife, nor of his clothes. All that he could find was a book resting in the soft grass, bound in dark leather. There was no title on the cover, but Aragorn could clearly make out an image embossed in the soft leather: a bare tree crowned with seven stars. Whatever the book was, it was clearly meant for him. The book was lighter than it looked. Leafing through a few pages, Aragorn was shocked at the contents, for the images on the pages moved, as though under some enchantment. He had seen images in fire and smoke and water, but even in Elrond's library at Imladris he had never seen such a book, with images that moved as though alive. And it was not only the images that were a surprise: there seemed to be voices speaking to him from the pages, soft and whispering like voices carried on the wind.]
Would that you were here with me, Gandalf, to tell me the source of this magic.
[Aragorn closed the strange book quickly, but felt compelled to hold on to it and take it with him. Unwilling to venture out both naked and unarmed, the man picked up a sturdy-looking branch and swung it as if wielding a longsword, inhaling sharply as a shock of pain ran up his spine. Aragorn laid down his new sword and began to run calloused hands up his back, searching for a wound that might need urgent attention, but felt no blood. He was surprised the find something protruding from his back, but it was not the sword or axe or arrow he might have expected. It was something... feathery?]
What new strangeness is this?
[There was thankfully no sign of any orcs, but perhaps there was someone close who could tell him what was happening. Perhaps, wherever he was, Legolas and Gimli were also here. Drawn by the sound of rushing water, Aragorn made his way to the nearby stream and began to follow it east, hoping that he might find someone along the riverbank, or that it might lead to a settlement. After a short hike of around two leagues, Aragorn crested a small hill and saw below him a fairly large but unwalled town. There were houses and a large open square, several larger buildings, though none looked fortified or seemed obvious great halls. The town was a mile away still, but Aragorn could see people moving around the market square.]
Why do they all have wings?
[Well, the best way to find out what was going on was to ask someone - even if he wasn't dressed for company. Carrying his enchanted book and his makeshift wooden sword, Aragorn headed toward the town, hoping to find some answers, and with luck his friends. And some clothes.]
My brother.
[Aragorn's voice was hoarse, his throat dry like parchment.]
Forgive me, Boromir: I have failed you.
[He sat up slowly, wincing in pain. He didn't recall being struck, and if the orcs had attacked him while he knelt over his dead friend then why had they left him alive? And why had they... taken his clothes? The cool breeze pricked at the man's bare arms and chest and he realised with a start that his clothes and cloak were gone and he wore only a thin pair of white trousers. His weapons were also nowhere to be seen. Nor was Boromir, though his absence seemed more reasonable when Aragorn realised that he was no longer on Amon Hen. As orcs were not known for stripping their enemies, moving them and then leaving them alive, if injured, in woodland clearing, it was clear that someone else had done this, though to what end Aragorn had no idea.
Moving more stiffly than he would have liked, Aragorn searched the clearing quickly for his weapons, but there was no sign of sword or bow or knife, nor of his clothes. All that he could find was a book resting in the soft grass, bound in dark leather. There was no title on the cover, but Aragorn could clearly make out an image embossed in the soft leather: a bare tree crowned with seven stars. Whatever the book was, it was clearly meant for him. The book was lighter than it looked. Leafing through a few pages, Aragorn was shocked at the contents, for the images on the pages moved, as though under some enchantment. He had seen images in fire and smoke and water, but even in Elrond's library at Imladris he had never seen such a book, with images that moved as though alive. And it was not only the images that were a surprise: there seemed to be voices speaking to him from the pages, soft and whispering like voices carried on the wind.]
Would that you were here with me, Gandalf, to tell me the source of this magic.
[Aragorn closed the strange book quickly, but felt compelled to hold on to it and take it with him. Unwilling to venture out both naked and unarmed, the man picked up a sturdy-looking branch and swung it as if wielding a longsword, inhaling sharply as a shock of pain ran up his spine. Aragorn laid down his new sword and began to run calloused hands up his back, searching for a wound that might need urgent attention, but felt no blood. He was surprised the find something protruding from his back, but it was not the sword or axe or arrow he might have expected. It was something... feathery?]
What new strangeness is this?
[There was thankfully no sign of any orcs, but perhaps there was someone close who could tell him what was happening. Perhaps, wherever he was, Legolas and Gimli were also here. Drawn by the sound of rushing water, Aragorn made his way to the nearby stream and began to follow it east, hoping that he might find someone along the riverbank, or that it might lead to a settlement. After a short hike of around two leagues, Aragorn crested a small hill and saw below him a fairly large but unwalled town. There were houses and a large open square, several larger buildings, though none looked fortified or seemed obvious great halls. The town was a mile away still, but Aragorn could see people moving around the market square.]
Why do they all have wings?
[Well, the best way to find out what was going on was to ask someone - even if he wasn't dressed for company. Carrying his enchanted book and his makeshift wooden sword, Aragorn headed toward the town, hoping to find some answers, and with luck his friends. And some clothes.]
no subject
Ale? Has this inn nothing stronger? If I'm to give myself over to drunkenness it would better be done with spirits, or at least a good wine.
[A moment later a man appeared laden with two large plates of food and placed them down in front of them. Aragorn looked down at the pile of unfamiliar food and pulled the eating knife from his belt, trying to decide where to start. The rich smell or cooked meat suddenly made him realise how very hungry he was.]
I was among the Elves in Caras Galadhon last evening, but they have no fondness for roasted meat. This is quite the feast. Meat wrapped in bread - an unusual idea, though I think I can see the sense it: the meat can be picked up without scalding or dirtying the hand.
[He quickly sliced the burger in half with his sharp knife and lifted one half, pausing before bringing it to his lips to give the contents a cursory inspection. Meat, some salad leaves, the tomato that Samwise was so fond of. He could smell some sort of sweet, vinegary sauce, too. At the first bite Aragorn began to understand Kirk's enthusiasm for the dish, though the long time since his last taste of fresh meat might have made it taste better to him than it was.]
It's very good.
[Hunger took hold of him and in only three more bites the burger half was gone, hot, sticky juices running down Aragorn's fingers.]
Though not entirely... tidy.
no subject
[He watches him eat and laughs a little, eating his own with a tiny bit less gusto, but gusto nonetheless. He was an all American boy and he liked his burgers and his fries. Didn't get much better than that.]
Can't wait to see you try a hot dog then, or chili fries.